


Exit Strategies

by Little Grey Gargoyle (silasfinch)



Series: The Russians [1]
Category: The Americans (TV 2013)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Loyalty, POV First Person, Post-Canon, Reunions, Slice of Life, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:08:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25930348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silasfinch/pseuds/Little%20Grey%20Gargoyle
Summary: Nadezhda has every reason to leave her husband.She makes the conscious choice to stayMoments from a Russian Life
Relationships: Elizabeth Jennings/Philip Jennings | Clark Westerfeld
Series: The Russians [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1881895
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Exit Strategies

**Author's Note:**

> A lockdown challenge to myself  
> I'm dyslexic - please be gentle with spelling errors.

**30 Days Since Extraction**

_"One can’t have two deaths, but you can’t avoid one."_

"You wouldn't be the first of our returning agents to consider this option." 

I keep my face carefully blank, but inwardly I scoff at the psychologist who is evaluating our stability and resilience. The sessions are mandatory but not productive in the least; it's tempting to roll my eyes, such as Paige at her most surly. Too many deep-cover agents are returning home and cracking under the twin pressures of an alien homeland and a lack of purpose. Few people can claim to be as far uncover as Mikhail and I, but that makes the security risk all the greater. 

I don't need to look at my husband to know that he is having similar thoughts. Something is threatening about being under the direct supervision of the Russian state again. We don't have the safety net of a handler who will operate outside the rules. We are ageing assets, but there is still some value in our knowledge and potential vulnerabilities. This person is offering to help us separately, but they did everything to ensure that we are together in everything but name. 

"What would the point of separating in practice? Our relationship is successful under whatever metric. You isolated us from every person in our home towns or this country. Our parents are dead, and my son is a stranger. Starting anew at our age is pointless."

I hide a smile at Mikhail's commentary on the matter. He is striking the perfect balance between open and distant. We won't get out of here without saying something about our mental health and wellbeing, but that doesn't mean we need to give away intel freely. I am proud of the commitment we have made together. 

Strangely half-forgotten Russian proverbs keep floating through my mind, even though it's been a long time since anyone spoke then to me in earnest. The words came in my mother's familiar scratchy and said a voice that I use to hear over the cassette tapes in the basement. I may be losing my mind, but it's a comforting delusion. 

**60 Days Since Extraction**

_The eyes are afraid but the hands are still doing it_

I could leave when Milhail craves America and the comfort of Philip and Elizabeth Jennings. 

He was always going to find the transition back harder than I would because my husband sees far greater value in America and what it represents. We both feel and felt the seductive pull at times, for different reasons. The dilemma was Geoffery is one amongst many. However, the identity of Philip Jennings was easier for Mikhail to inhabit than Elizabeth was for me. His conflict is never more apparent than our first two months of 'freedom.' which is code for careful monitoring to ensure we don't present a risk to the mission. Of course, our strategies, techniques and intel are rapidly becoming obsolete so their concern will ease over time. 

"Henry will be finishing his semester soon and hopefully playing in the finals for ice hockey," Mikail says one night over dinner. 

"Our children are going to have a lifetime of memories, most of them without us. Are you going to itemise each one?" I reply with more sharpness than the observations warrants. 

We are still negotiating the rules for meaning our referencing the children and their place here. Mikhail always found this process more difficult than I do; being an ambivalent parent in the first place is helpful in this circumstance. The notion of defection was never a serious consideration for me. Returning to Russia was an abstract concept, but I always knew that escaping as the Jennings family unit was still a pipe dream. Yes, we have lost our children and any hope of a meaningful relationship with them as adults. At the same time, both Henry and Paige as safe and at home. There were never going to settle into a life on the run. It's a mark of our success that they are perfectly normal American children. 

**90 Days Since Extraction**

_If you’re scared of wolves, don’t go in the woods_

I should leave when my husband asks me to, not because I am a dutiful Russian wife, but because we are both spoiling for a fight. 

Our tentative peace and arrangements over the last few weeks are frying at the edges. The main problem is that both us are board out of our minds. One of the reasons each of us is so formidable in our chosen profession is the innate need for activity and motion. However, twenty years of missions plus an emergency extraction from a vengeful FBI agent leaves allot of messes to clean up. 

"Stop acting as if our children don't exist even when we home and away from the prying eyes. Paige and Henry weren't just convenient ways to deepen our cover, at least not after the first few years. Why do you just deflect every conversation that relates to them?" Mikhail is almost yelling now. 

"They are not _ours_ to talk about anymore, Philip. No more than my mother could consider the details of my life when we were there. It needs to be enough to know that they will have the best chance at a regular life. They will be the same age forever in our hearts and minds. Talking about a reality that we know nothing about will not lessen or alter the pain in any way." I try to instruct gently. 

"Being as heartless as your mother, the grand officer's wife is not something to aspire to, Elizabeth."

I don't even notice that we switch into our old identities, but I do recognise the sound when I slap my husband across the face. The blow isn't conscious, nor is it at full strength, but both us understand the intent behind it. Mikhail rocks back on his feet and absorbs the hit without moving to retaliate. I did not have a good relationship with my mother (parenting wasn't a huge priority in that place and time), but the memories are meaningful. My mother did her best under the circumstances, and American expectations or comparisons are not fair. 

"I'm sorry, that was a needlessly cruel thing to say, and I don't doubt your love for Paige or Henry." Mikhail does look genuinely sorrowful and doesn't move to rub his reddening cheek. 

"There are some things we will always be so different, Mihail, including reconciling the ghosts of the past. 

**100 Days Since Extraction**

**** _Even a hut feels like paradise when you’re with your loved one_

I have the perfect opportunity to leave during our first winter back home. 

One of the many cliches the West has about Russia is the snow, the cold and the pathetically weak Tsar Nicholas and his final fate. Our role as travel agents gives Philip and Elizabeth Jennings access to public opinions on other countries. While I'm not particularly eager to provide such cliches faith, there is some truth to first. The new house we are slowly building together is modern and sterile. The place is devoid of family mementoes hardly makes us unique in these times. However, our first winter settles hard into our bones—Mikhail's hacking cough echoes around the house. 

We are barely speaking after yet another argument, and the option from that psychologist weighs heavily on my mind. Maybe his illness could be the excuse for the closest thing to a clean break we were ever going to achieve. I could work on making connections to Misha and build Mikhail's family away from me and our inability to soothe each other. I am not a good person, and the temptation is strong, but the only thing that will ease his nightmares is knowing that I am near. 

"Nadezhda, it burns everything hurts, don't go, please don't leave."

My heart lurches with every plea and fever hallucination. There are so many bad memories between us. I can only guess which ones are causing Mikhail such pain at this moment. Spies age fast and our bodies are a collection of aches and long term damage. I pray that this is a simple winter flu, but our medical files have plenty of nasty surprises in them. Including the multiple times, we fought to control biowarfare from breaking out. Sickness takes on a whole new meaning when you have seen the human body become a weapon to attack itself. 

"Mikhail, you are sick. I am here. You will get better." 

These words become something of a mantra as work to bring his fever down and take care of Mikail's every function. I have seen him with every type of injury, including bullet wounds and stabbings, but nothing will compare to the weakness and torment. The doctors are confident he will pull through, but it is hard to cling to that certainty at 4 am when I count his every rasping breath. 

"Mikhail, you are sick. I am here. You will get better." 

**200 Days Since Extraction**

_Make a fool pray to god, and they will smash their own forehead_.

I want to leave when Stan Beeman starts to weaponise our children. 

Of course, Stan is a veteran of working this desk and dealing with the Rezidentura he knows enough not to do anything too directly, especially with his reputation feeling the blowback. More to the point he adores Henry and was his parent in all but name during those last turbulent months when Paige was going to be the second generation asset. While our former neighbour wouldn't stoop so low as to increase our son's pain, he can find creative ways to hurt us. His techniques include everything from anonymous clippings left at our drop sites to information making its way through assets and unofficial diplomatic channels. 

"Why doesn't he just say Henry is an American lawman in the making and end these little papercut torments?" I growl one day. 

"This approach means he can still take the moral high ground and claim that he will never stoop to our level. He may as well be reading from a boy scout manual." Mikhail replies without looking up from the newspaper. 

His indifference is almost entirely fake. Every word he said to Stan in that parking lot was true. Somehow a genuine friendship occurs between a loyal Soviet spy and the best the FBI has to offer. As irrational as it is, my husband feels a profound sense of betrayal that Stan would stoop to such a level. Of course, we are nothing but a shameful secret to our sensitive son who adores maths. At least Paige will have a more comprehensive picture of her parents and our potential legacy. Our children will always be divided on this line. 

"I don't know if it's better or worse than Paige is completely off the grid."

"It's better. Paige knows enough to keep her information out of the main channels. She wants nothing to do with this life anymore and will fight to maintain a sense of dignity and privacy. Besides, you can always rely on Stan Beeman to have black and white thinking. Paige is the child we chose to recruit, don't forget. Stan has more power and influence when it comes to our son. 

I avoid coming home in the evenings for as long as possible. This decision is for fear of receiving another one of those yellow packets. The only small mercy is that there are no photographs in the mix. Henry will forever be the young man on the cusp of higher education. 

***

**300 Days Since Extraction**

_Love is so cruel; you could fall in love with a goat._

I am the closest to leaving when Mikhail almost destroys their new life for the sake of idealism. 

My new role as a self-defence instructor and the nebulous form of a consultant is satisfying enough. Teaching the countless faceless young women who look nothing like Paige is rewarding in a small way. I'm am under no illusions that I can save them from people like the General who raped me, but the ability survive is worth preserving. Mikhail approves wholeheartedly and joins me in many sparing sessions in the gym. 

"We need to do something for or about Anya." he insists as faints a roundhouse kick. 

Anya is a regular who is being mistreated by the man her parents want to see as a future son in law. You don't need our level of training to recognise the bruising patterns and swelling in the jaw. Anya has more commitment than true talent, and she wants the escape that marriage to a 'respectable man' offers. My main goal is to teach her (without mentioning the reasons) how to minimise the damage while escaping and evading. The techniques for spies work well for women facing abuse. 

"For the tenth time, there is nothing we can or should do. Anya will not thank us for interfering or reporting her future husbands' behaviour. Do you honestly think what passes for social services here cannot be brought for the right number of zeros?" 

"We still need to do something or else what is your self-defence work for, if not to see broken bones and bruises with greater frequency?" Mikhail growls in frustration. 

"I am teaching them to remain alive when said idiot man in their lives drinks himself to early death or antagonises the wrong enemy." 

"It's not enough I will speak to the police tomorrow. I will not let that girl die when we could have prevented it! Somethings are too important."

"Our covers are paper-thin here. If we make the wrong enemies, everything is at risk. The life of one person who doesn't want your saving is not worth being on the blacklist for the rest of our lives."

"I'm going." 

As it turns out, my husband didn't get the chance to play the hero. The misogynist groom in question lost a fight with the brother of one of his mistresses. Anya was beaming when she came into the room to tell us. However, the divide between us was firmly set. Mikhail still believes that there are higher principles beyond mere survival. With enough motivation or even idealism, he would willingly put everything at risk without so much as a second thought. The ghosts of America still linger for him and his useless morality. 

I silently pack escape supplies and hide them in the trunk of my car. For all I know he does the same it is not something we speak of openly again. Anya still comes to classes every few days. 

**400 Days Since Extraction**

_A word is silver; silence is gold._

I refuse to leave when we might need to stay apart. 

There is a slim chance that one of our old covers is seeking vengeance and is working his way through Siberia with our basic demographic data. Planning such an attack takes commitment and rage. Our handlers don't know the precise details, but they are giving us regular updates. The Center is ready for this possibility, but it is still a disconcerting notion. There are plans for us to escape both as a couple and individuals. While I can see the logic, I refuse to leave without my husband. 

"Make any evacuation plans for us together; I won't leave without him." 

Mikhail blinks at me in genuine surprise. While we are a team and are working together in all ways, I am not usually the one to disobey orders. I ignore him for now and continue to stare down the representative from the Center. She is competent but has nothing on Gabriel and Claudia. Moscow is putting out fires on multiple fronts and doesn't have the unity of our instructions of the past. We have some control over our circumstances now. It is not a matter of defection or not. 

"Don't be foolishly sentimental. Your survival is at stake as well as the preservation of our intelligence community. We do not have time for such sentimental considerations" Our handler huffs impatiently. 

"I have killed more people in the name of this crumbling Soviet Union than your recruit class point together, with fewer resources and no hand-holding. Do not talk to me about acceptable risks. We are leaving together or not at all." I hiss back moving towards the frightened man. 

Mikhail comes up to stand beside me and reaches out to grasp my hand. Normally such a display would set my teeth on edge. However, right at that moment, I find the touch comforting, and our scars and callouses match as we cling to each other for security and strength. Let these inexperience fools track down Gabriel or Claudia to ask about possible weaknesses and a change of approach. 

**500 Days Since Extraction**

_Am I a trembling creature, or do I have the right?_

I cannot leave, and there is freedom in that simple reality. 

It is a relatively simple matter to register our 'real marriage' with the proper channel. As difficult as it is to remember, we do have legitimate identities as Russian citizens. Nadezhda and Mikhail are together in the eyes of the law both in terms of taxes and rights. In some ways, this is a gesture with more symbolism than substances. Still, I make a fuss in wrapping up the documents and presenting them to my husband, for now, reason at all. 

"What's this for?" He looks at me in genuine curiosity. 

I am fluent in every part of Mihail's body language even when he tries to hide his emotions. My husband is blinking down at the documents confirming our marriage, complete with all the original documents. It took me several weeks to hunt down the information about his parents and birth records. Technically speaking that information is vital, we can marry without the traditional means, but I want it to feel as genuine as possible. 

"For all, we know your Russian friend gave away the intel, but I want to make everything official." 

I feel incredibly self-conscious about offering such a sentimental gift, especially when he is still in mourning about everything he lost in America. Neither of us has fond family memories to look back on and seeing those names on paper could disrupt the fragile peace between us and the new life. I cannot offer my husband what he most desired (a relationship with our children), but I can offer him companionship in whatever form our last years take. 

"Your name is beautiful. I don't think I ever told you that." Mikhail beams at me with a foolishly radiant smile. 

"Overly ostentatious and references too many dead relatives that my mother loathed, which was probably the whole point. She never did tell me about the rumours surrounding that particular great aunt." I shrug in explanation. 

Any doubts I have about the appropriateness of such a gift and the implicit meaning leaves me as Mikhail draws me into a fierce hug, swelling me off the group. The move reminds me of when we were first dating and fell in love some 20 years into our marriage. I fight the inherent need to scold him for such a public display of emotion and affection. My concerns are still valid, but it is not so pressing anymore. 

"Put me down, you idiot. Your knees are holding together with my grit than cartilage at this point. We aren't young enough to act like kids. I'm glad you like the present but don't even think about asking me to adopt any traditional suplex. My name is difficult enough without that complication. 

He is still laughing when he drags us towards the bedroom. 

***

**Unknown Days Post Extraction**

I am a better Russian wife than an American one. 

Of course, that doesn't mean I am perfect in either country, but Russian expectations seem to settle with me better. Such a reality is strange because, from a technical perspective, we were in America far longer as a couple than our time at home. Somehow it is easier to inhabit our official identities now that we can do so together without the spectre of Martha or any past lovers/missions haunting our every step. The memories we create now may be hard, but at least they are genuine. We mark milestones together and something close to happiness. 

"I can find you something better; these rings were something of an impulsive purchase under time pressure." Mikhail offers hastily. 

"Don't you dare, there are perfectly practical and efficient. You know me better than to get anything worthy of Elizabeth Taylor or American sentimentality in general." I object firmly. 

We are choosing to spend our version of a honeymoon at home, over a long weekend when you have run assumed as many identities as the two of us, hotels and more glam lose their appeal. Besides, we can be relatively confident that our security measures at still in effect. The most luxurious thing for people with our histories is the opportunity for absolute privacy. 

Somehow it feels like we are betraying the memory of our children and all the pain they endure to build positive memories in Russia, even if it is a country that is nothing like our childhood memories. At the same time, behaving like a martyr to the cause is a waste of energy and resources. If there is one thing that unites the employees of the Centre (under whatever regime), it's the intense desire to adapt and survive under any circumstances. Those agents who fail to do so like Crandall and Hans some of the senior agents in America. Mikhail and I cannot claim any special formula or skillset; there was more luck than anything else. 

"Do you want to know what I feared more than a 'difficult life' from the nameless official?" Mikhail asks, reaching out to hold my hand our rings matching. 

"Of course."

"I wanted my life to become and remain meaningful, not in the propaganda why they tried to sell us at the beginning, but enough to get me through the bad times. I was foolish to think that I could pretend to be a failing travel agent or an American entirely. Our relationship and building a life with you is a privacy legacy but a meaningful one." 

***

**Ten Years Since Extraction**

Mikhail can feel confident in the life we built having meaning. 

There isn't the meaning that he hoped for when we reunited with Paige and Henry in that nameless and featureless safehouse. Our time with them was always going to be limited. Never enough to satisfy that burning act in both our souls. At least Paige has done the groundwork with Henry, and he knows enough not to judge us entirely by the standards of his hero Stan. Whether or not, they can remain close as siblings is not a question we can ask. The grounds that connect them to us are too fragile to risk putting them under strain. Much like my trip to see my mother before she died, these meetings could never be a regular occurrence. Everyone in that room was acutely aware that those few hours were the definition of borrowed time. 

_"We are happy and are building good lives with even better people in them. You would both be impressed with the job offers that Henry is receiving and I think his new girlfriend is a keeper."_

By mutual agreement, Mikhail and I do not ask for any specific information and our children's lives as adults. Even if they were in a position to talk about careers or locations, it would put them in an impossible place if Stan has sent operatives to gather intel. Besides, Paige is telling us all the vital points, like a good little almost spy. Henry is happy and is continuing to build a laugh that is not in the shadow of his traitorous parents. Both of them look healthy, well adjusted; all the body language cues they never learnt to hide properly. A hint of what could be an engagement ring is around Paige's neck along with the cross that is from Father Tim. 

Instead, Mikhail and I fill the time teaching our children who we are as people with old info that any half-decent agent at the Russian Desk will or already know or suspect. It brings Henry comfort to know that the strangers in front of him were not pod people ou of a lab. Father and son bond over sports and running techniques of all things. Nothing is forgotten or forgiven, but at least there will be few burning questions. Foolishly we offer to take photos as a keepsake on a cheap and disposable camera. The poor quality and productive value mean that it will be easy to destroy the need arises. 

Seeing our children marks a turning point in our new lives in Russia. Consciously or subconsciously we both let go of the idea of this being a temporary measure or that Philip and Elizabeth Jennings weren't dead identities never to be part of our lives again. Mikhail becomes successful in his career path, rapidly rising in the ranks with minimal need for corruption. The changing landscape of both Russia and our relationship with America, Europe and its allies means that our knowledge is valuable, even if our former country is going through massive social and political changes. We have friends here even it never reaches the level of intimacy with Stan and the Beemans. For no reason at all, we decide to host a small party to celebrate our anniversary, though the dates are not 100% accurate to avoid any confusion about our past lives. Fortunately, things aren't so different that Russian citizens casually ask such details anyway. 

_"You have such a strong marriage. I would ask you the secret, but you'll be suitably generic and talk about hard work." Mikhail's boss says wistfully._

_"It is such a shame you don't have children to share the joy Mikhail is so good with the young people at the office. Making a happy home is not a small achievement."_ my colleague says after several glasses of wine. 

" _It as if you are reading each other's mind. Will you renew your vows one day, my cousin can get you a good deal on the venue in the Centre of town." our neighbour says._

_"With every passing year I am more certain of my choice and the life we have built,"_ Mikhail says softly when called on for a speech. 

The words are sincere at they make everyone in the room swoon a little and reach of another glass of our wine. However, I smile at what is underneath the comment. There were so many points in our lives where we didn't have a single choice, in everything from career to when we tried for children. It took decades and heartache. We are finally in a position to choose to stay together as a couple without anything in the way. 

I don't regret the decision for a moment. 


End file.
